Title: Kicking butt in the New Millennium
Authors: Moseley and Ten (vmoseley@fgi.net and
kristena@netconnect.com.au)
Spoilers: First Person Shooter, Requiem, vague parts of that
pseudo-season 8
Summary: It's New Years Eve, a time for remembering :)
Rating: PG (well, a racey PG ;)
Category: MSM, H, MT
Disclaimer: FOX, I hate you. Carter, you lying no good SOB, you
are on my bad list, too. Let's see, is there anything I forgot?
Oh, yeah, I wouldn't want any money off this. See, we do this for
the Love of the characters. Too bad you jokers can't say the
same, isn't it?
Archive: please, with the New Millennium series
Comments: another installment of NM for, well, the New
Millennium. Happy New Millennium, everybody! There will be more
of these in 2001.
NOTE: We have skipped ahead in the NM universe here, just because
it was a fun story for the new year. There will be other
installments out soon that relate to Signs and Wonders, Brand X,
and yes, even Requiem. Just keep tuned
All the NM series can be found on
http://tenxffic.tripod.com
Mulder Residence
Georgetown
December 31 2000
11:55pm
The clinking of glasses awoke Scully. Her eyes flew open. She had
fallen asleep on top of the bed, well propped up in a sitting
position with pillows. Mulder was settling himself next to her,
holding two champagne glasses and a bottle of Martinelli's Gold
Label Sparkling Apple cider in their ice bucket.
Scully looked frantically at the alarm clock. "Did I miss it?"
He chuckled. "Like I'd let you miss the 'real' new millennium and
then have to face your wrath. Relax. Five more minutes." In the
light of the bedside lamps he poured two glasses of apple cider
and handed her one. With her pregnancy, alcohol was out. Mulder
wasn't just abstaining 'in sympathy' - the doctor had ruled it out
until he recovered fully from his abduction. And he was recovering
well.
They sat as close as they could. Scully swirled the liquid in her
glass and smiled. "At least we're not spending this New Year's Eve
battling zombies. Or in the ER."
"Shhh, little ears might hear and decide to make a hospital trip
necessary." Mulder's eyes went back to the clock. "Almost time to
recreate our first kiss." They counted down, then at the stroke of
midnight, shared a considerably less tentative kiss than their
first had been. There was no sling on Mulder's arm to get in the
way, but the proportions of Scully's abdomen provided a similar
challenge.
"Happy new millennium, Mulder. And happy anniversary."
They drank their cider and Mulder put the glasses next to the
lamp. He gave a grin. "So, Mrs. Mulder, feel like creating some
fireworks?"
"Yes, providing you make a new year's resolution that you'll try
not to get injured so much this year."
"Hey, it wasn't THAT many times. And I was always able to perform
afterwards."
"Really? What about the time the Gunmen roped us in on that
virtual reality game? What was the name again? First person
down?"
Mulder chuckled again. "First person _shooter_! And as I remember
it . . ."
Silcon Valley, California
April 27, 2000
10:43 pm
I'm panting. And it isn't because of the exertion.
It's twilight in this metal and cinder block holding module. Just
the recessed lighting on the sides providing enough illumination
so that I can see my partner sprawled beside me.
Her hair is flaring, her chest is heaving, her face is glowing
with a light sheen of sweat. I think her underarm deodorant gave
up the ghost somewhere on level one.
God, it smells great in this room!
Scully notices I'm not speaking. That bothers her. She always
wants some indication that I'm still breathing. She turns toward,
me, looks at me and if this goddam jockstrap wasn't attached so
well, it would be ricocheting off these 'titanium alloy' walls.
I'm in love with a warrior princess.
But the best part is, I'm married to her.
Three months, twenty-seven days, somewhere around 13 hours and who
cares how many minutes.
And all I want to do right now is rip that body armor off her and
take advantage of the low lighting and no cell phones, pagers or
Assistant Directors in this windowless room.
"Mulder, you're bleeding," she says.
Shit. That was not what I was hoping for. 'Mulder, you look good
enough to eat.' 'Mulder, I'm so wet and you're so hard, let's do
it against the shower stall.' 'Mulder, we have exactly 25 minutes
before the alarm goes off, make me want to stay home.' Yes to all
of the above. But not 'Mulder, you're bleeding.'
Because in that instant, the moment she saw that blood running
into my eye, I lost my warrior princess and found my personal
physician in her place. Dr. Scully is not nearly as much fun to
play with as Dana the Conqueror.
It's really hard to be sexy when your wife is giving you that
'detached medical professional' gaze. When she's ignoring the
bulge in your pants for the cut over your eye. When you can see
her little mind working, watch the gears turn as she's deciding
not which part of your body to caress with her tongue, but how
many stitches it's going to take to close the wound.
And to add insult to injury, and complete this cold shower, the
walls start banging and I hear Frohike's plaintive cry. Shit.
Couldn't the cavalry have waited a little longer? Seven minutes,
is that too much to ask?
The door opens. I struggle up from lying flat on my back and try
to glare at the Gunmen. It was bad enough that they dragged us
all the way out to Silicon Valley for this little encounter with a
computer generated Amazon. Now, when I'm finally having a good
time, they have to horn in on my action. Or what would be action
if the damned door would close on us again.
It takes time, but I can usually convince my wife that my injuries
are not life threatening enough to forego sex. OK, so it's worked
once, and it was on our wedding day, and it was her idea to begin
with, but it's always worth another try!
I jump to my feet, and patently ignore the buzzing in my ears.
The room is dark, but then, I have on my dark glasses. It's a
little darker at the edges, but that's nothing. I decide to take
the glasses off, but the dark edges remain. I ignore them.
I feel victorious. I feel like I've just watched the greatest
porn movie ever made, the most exciting NBA final game every
played, and made it to the 5th level of the hardest video game
every devised. Oh, wait, I just did.
Or rather my wife just did.
Doesn't matter. We just did. I admit to being limited to opening
the door, but that door was jammed and if it weren't for that
broadsword, we would have been toast. Or vapor. Or whatever
remains when the game ends. Hope Materya likes it there. The
bitch.
Damned good-looking bitch, but a bitch nonetheless. Nothing like
my Warrior Princess. My personal Dana the Conqueror. Who is
looking at me funny again.
"Mulder, are you sure you feel all right?"
I give her my smooth smile. The 'bedroom eyes' look, she calls
it. "I feel like . . ." The damned Gunmen are right behind us,
along with the girl and guy techies, so I drop my voice to a
whisper in her ear. "I feel like getting you back to the motel as
fast as I can drive."
But it doesn't quite come out that smooth. It comes out more like
"I feel like skidding to back to . . . gibberish, gibberish,
gibberish." Did I bite my tongue somewhere along the line? It
feels thick and doesn't seem to work right.
I shake my head and the room twirls around me like a ballerina on
ice skates.
"Mulder!" Scully shouts in my ear.
"Whoa, Mulder! What the hell?" comes out of either Frohike or
Langly. The really scary part is that they look alike at the
moment. Or maybe it's because there are two of one of them. This
is not a good thing.
"He's lookin' pretty green, Scully," is another pronouncement I
could have avoided. I didn't feel like puking 'til some dumbshit
decided to point it out that I look like I'm going to. I hold my
breath before I end up losing my dinner, that McDonald's Big Extra
I snagged on the way back from the police station, all over this
nice white industrial flooring.
My wife loves me, but even she has her limits.
Right now, she's keeping me upright.
"Help me get him to the car," she says in her 'don't you dare mess
with me' voice. If I could settle on which one of the two of her
in front of me is really the right Scully, I'd bet she's wearing
'the look' to go with the voice. I avoid that combination like
the plague. I follow along like a good little puppy.
There are stairs in this building. I missed that somewhere. And
my head is about to explode. Hard to miss that. But I can see
Scully, or rather several Scullys, holding my arm and guiding me
down the stairs. Byers, or rather a whole lot of Byers clones,
have my other arm in a death grip. We have to lose him and his
buddies or there will be absolutely NO action tonight.
"Are we going back to the motel?" I'm almost positive that came
out the way I intended. Maybe not as sexy as I'd liked, but I
could almost swear I got all the syllables in the right places.
"No," Scully says. Wait. Did she just say no?
"Scully," I say in my most reasonable voice.
"Stop whining, Mulder. You have a concussion. We're going to the
hospital."
That's the last place I want to go. I've been to the hospital
more damned times in the last damned year than at any other time
in my damned adult life. And in not one of those times have I
gotten laid! No, this time, I'm putting my foot down!
"But I don't wanna go to the hospital, Scully."
"Mulder, what did I tell you about whining," she says, with that
'you aren't going to get dessert tonight' tone to her voice. But
I really, really, really want dessert tonight. And maybe a little
for breakfast in the morning. It's going to take all my powers of
persuasion to make this fantasy playing in my head become a
reality for the both of us.
"I feel fine. Really. I've had concussions, Scully, I'm an
expert. I don't have a concussion."
"You almost passed out. And you almost tossed your cookies back
there," she points out. I wonder if she learned that phrase in
medical school. And exactly where are my 'cookies' located, Dr.
Scully?
"And you're seeing double," she adds for good measure and slams
the car door, effectivly blocking the now several gunmen from
joining in on our fun. Things might be looking up after all, if
they are out of the picture.
"So what?" I respond. OK, that did sound a little whiny. Get
that tone of voice under control right now, man, or this project
is history. God, I didn't have this much trouble getting into the
pants of Angie Bennito after the junior prom! And Angie was
wearing her mom's girdle!
I take a deep breath. Hold it. Do it again. Hold it some more.
Now I'm hyperventilating. Not good.
"Scully. Dana. My wife," I say in all seriousness. "There is
only one thing on my mind right now, and I can't do that in an
Emergency Department. I want you to drive us directly to the
motel. Now."
"You can't go to sleep, Mulder. Not for at least 12 hours," she
growls.
Go ahead, Scully. You're at your sexiest when you're pissed off
at me. But I can tell she's weakening. She's looking at the exit
to the hospital, and she's passing it. YES! I'm gonna get laid
by a warrior princess tonight!!
"I assure you, sleep is the farthest thing from my mind. Sure,
we'll be horizontal, but believe me, slumber is not an option
here," I tell her in a sultry tone of voice.
And I mean every single word until my stomach decides to betray me
and I throw up all over the rental car.
Did I mention my wife can do a 180 that would put most race car
drivers to shame?
So now we're pulling up to the ER and Scully is jumping out of the
car. She alerts the guard, who runs to get a nurse, who comes
running behind a wheelchair that I'm sure they'll make me ride in.
My wife looks down at me from the open car door. I know I'm
pouting and I don't really give a damn if she sees it. I don't
want medical help, I want sex. Is that too much to ask? Hell, I
could get medical help when I was single, for cripes sakes!
I feel her hand under my chin and she pulls my jaw up so that I'm
looking directly into her eyes. She smiles, a sweet smile that
has a little bit of that warrior princess around the edges.
"Did I remember to tell you that you looked good enough to eat
back there, Mulder," she purrs and then, ohmigod, she licks her
lips. That's it. It's over. She won.
"Scully," I gasp as the nurse moves her aside and drags my sorry
ass over to the wheelchair.
"I'm right behind you, G-man. And I'm the first person in line
when they let you out. In the morning." She smiles again, and
this time, presses a kiss just above the cut near my eye.
"I'm gonna hold you to that," I tell her.
"Let anybody try and stop me," she says with a wink.
I might just make it through this night, after all.
The end.
Scully gets her two cents (well, more like a quarter ;) in soon.
Keep watching!
Vickie
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Season's Greetings
Peace and Joy!
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